A Chance to Say Goodbye
by lovablegeek
Summary: [PostRENT] This isn't the first time Mark's had to sit with Roger in the hospital. [One shot]


**A/N:** Ahem. I'm on an angst kick lately… but I'm enjoying it anyway, so it can't be that bad. This was written for speedrent challenge #13, and won first place. Poor Mark… I put him through hell in so many of my stories. Ah well.

* * *

Needles had always made Mark dizzy, sometimes a little queasy. It was a good thing he had never actually seen Roger shooting up, or he might very well have fainted right then and there. As it was, he had to try desperately to ignore the IV in Roger's arm now, taped down so it wouldn't come loose accidentally. Still, Mark found it decidedly hard to ignore, sitting on the edge of Roger's hospital bed, holding his hand. He couldn't help glancing down every now and then, staring at the IV for several long seconds before he started to get dizzy again and had to look away.

For some reason, it almost surprised him that when he looked at Roger's bare arms he couldn't see any track marks, that the doctors had been able to find a vein to put the needle in. Stupid, of course. It had been years since Roger had used anything, and of course the track marks had faded, but sitting here holding Roger's hand brought back too many memories of the last time he'd been in this situation. Different time, different circumstances, but otherwise so similar.

_Holding Roger's hand just like this, and Roger hadn't woken up yet, wouldn't wake up, and the doctors talking about things that went completely over Mark's head and he didn't care, wasn't listening anyway, just watching Roger's face and trying to ignore the IV needle in his arm and scared to death he would lose his best friend…_

He'd been more scared then than he was now. Maybe it was because that time it had been more sudden, and this time he'd had years to accept that it was coming, and he'd watched the downward slide the whole way. Or maybe it was because this time Roger was fighting it, whereas the last time… he'd meant to die.

Mark lifted his free hand to brush Roger's hair away from his face and lay his hand across his forehead. He was hot and sweating, even in the chilly hospital where Mark had to wear a sweater to keep warm. Mark kept his hand there for a second, then pulled it back with a grimace. None of this was a surprise, of course. He'd been through it all before, first with Angel, then with Mimi and later Collins… God, this shouldn't be as familiar as it felt. He shouldn't be able to take the sweating and the fever and chills, the pale and drawn look of Roger's face, the ugly purple bruises on his body, as all a matter of course. He should be able to rage, scream, dredge up some anger at the unfairness of it, _cry_, even, but all he could really feel just then was tired. He'd been at the hospital for days, in Roger's room most of the time, afraid to leave just in case… Most of the nurses took pity on him and didn't chase him out, even when visiting hours were technically over.

_The nurses let him spend the night in Roger's room, after Mark had begged and pleaded with them, and he'd slept curled in the chair next to the bed, though he certainly hadn't slept well. Even if it hadn't been for the nurses who came now and then to check Roger's condition, Mark woke up every hour or so with a start, looking to the bed to make sure Roger was still there. He couldn't lose him too, not so soon after April._

Mark's fingers traced the lines of Roger's palm delicately, just barely brushing the skin. Roger's hands were larger and rougher than Mark's, but Mark still only touched them lightly, as if touching Roger too carelessly might break him. He'd just gotten so weak, so fragile… and even wearier than Mark, sleeping more and more often lately, and it was harder to wake him. He hadn't opened his eyes since Mark came in the room, hadn't woken when he sat down beside him and took his hand… But he was still here, still alive, and that was enough for now.

Mark pressed Roger's hand gently between both of his. Even when he was sweating, his hands still felt clammy, and Mark never could warm them whatever he tried. He sighed and leaned close to Roger to talk to him, half-whispering out of habit though he doubted he would have woken him even speaking at a normal volume.

"You don't have to stay here for me," he murmured, and the words opened an aching hole in his heart even as he said them. Just one more emptiness to add to those from every other friend he'd lost. "I know you're hurting, and I don't want to be the reason…" He trailed off, wondering silently if he'd have the courage to say this to Roger when he was awake. Probably not. "If you want to leave, I won't blame you."

_"He ODed, Collins," Mark said, his throat sore from crying, head aching. "He _meant _to. I know he did. Bastard doesn't even want to stay around for me…" Collins knew, and he knew, that he didn't mean the venom he put in that statement, that the anger was only to disguise the fear underneath._

Mark sat there for a moment longer, still holding Roger's hand, looking down at him for any sign he was waking up—nothing, just the slow, steady movement of his chest as he breathed. It figured. He was tired, he needed to rest… So did Mark, come to think about it, considering that hospitals never were the most restful places, but he'd have time for that later. After… It wasn't a thing he wasn't wanted to think about. Anyway, he was getting stiff sitting here on the small bed next to Roger, not the most comfortable place to sit all in all. Mark let go of Roger's hand and slumped into the chair he'd pulled up next to the bed, pulling his knees to his chest. The chair kept him close by, at least, in case Roger woke up, in case anything happened. In case something changed.

Mark wasn't fooling himself. If anything changed, it would be for the worse, and Roger couldn't get much worse before he slipped away. A day or two more at most, Mark figured, maybe less, and a part of him found it strange how coolly he could calculate that and barely flinch at the thought of it, but that part of him was distant and for the most part ignored. If he listened to that part of himself, he wouldn't be able to keep it together for Roger. If he listened to that part, he'd fall apart completely, and it certainly wouldn't do Roger any good to see him in tears when he woke up. If he woke up.

"Please wake up just one more time," Mark said softly, his eyes flickering up to Roger's face again. "Just one more time, so I can say goodbye."

_"You couldn't even leave a note? God, at least April did that much." Mark searched Roger's face for some regret, some sign he was sorry for trying to fucking kill himself and not even leaving a letter._

_Roger snorted derisively, just as sarcastic and bitter as ever now that he was conscious again. "Some note that was. Guess I didn't write you a note because I didn't have any bad news I felt like sharing."_

_Mark sighed and leaned in closer to Roger, forcing him to meet his eyes so he could see he was absolutely serious. "You can't leave me. You can't. If you go… I want a chance to say goodbye."_

_Roger didn't answer for a moment, and finally grimaced and nodded almost imperceptibly. "You'll have a chance. I promise."_

Mark jumped as Roger shifted on the bed, started to roll over onto his side and stopped as the IV pulled at his arm. His eyes fluttered open after a moment, and he turned his head to the side to look at Mark the same way he had every time he woke up since he got here, certain that Mark would be there right beside him every time. His blue eyes had an odd clarity to them, a lucidity that hadn't been there for days. Hesitantly, Mark gave him a little smile, and Roger smiled back weakly. "Hey," he said softly.

Mark's breath caught for a second, a painful hitch in his chest that he fought down quickly before the uncontrolled emotion could catch up with him and make him really start crying. His smile wavered a little. "Hey," he answered, fighting the word past the tightness in his throat. "You doing okay?"

Roger laughed, or at least started to before it turned into a cough. Once the coughs had subsided, he said, "I'm not doing any worse. Nothing's better than worse, right?"

"Yeah, it is." Mark reached up and took Roger's hand again without moving from his chair. Roger squeezed his hand gently, as if he were trying to reassure _Mark_. Once more, Mark suppressed the tears that threatened to rise up, keeping his smile in place. He'd have time to cry when Roger wouldn't see it.


End file.
